


In the Heart of Certainty, Therein Lies Fortitude

by Anoriell



Series: Dark Times [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoriell/pseuds/Anoriell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he cannot assuage his lust for vengence on the exiled king himself, then perhaps one of his nephews will do in Thorin's stead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Heart of Certainty, Therein Lies Fortitude

**Author's Note:**

> This fic's prompt word = TORTURE
> 
> Entirely written while listening to 'Sunshine' from the 'Walking Dead' soundtrack on repeat. That beautifully devastating piece of music just gives me so many feels. I actually have two versions of it (the 'Walking Dead' one and the version used in the movie 'Sunshine') and it is originally known as Adagio in D Minor. Give it a try next time you need to write angst.

His hands were rendered useless, the bones in every finger having been shattered beyond repair. He would never draw a bow again. Or braid his brother's hair.

Just a few more 'never again' to add to his extensive list. He was losing track of everything that was being taken from him with each newly inflicted wound. While his body slowly failed him, it is a wonder how his mind refused to concede defeat.

His torturer had kept him alive - barely. It was nothing more than a game to him - a way to fulfill his perverse need for retribution. Until now. There was a certain gleam in his eye as he entered the damp cell today. A new purpose to his usual self-important gait. He all but reeked of victory.

He would not cower from it ... would not give the Defiler that luxury. "Finish it then." He took a wheezing breath and spit out blood. "But know this." And it surprised him how the certainty behind his next words made things easier, even as the blade cut deep.

"He will avenge me." He sagged before his captor, only the chains keeping him from crumbling to the ground. "He is Durin."

_And he loves me._

**Author's Note:**

> Ack. Hate it when one word processor counts so many words but then when you go and officially post it, it gives a different word count. I had 200 words ... I swear. It was a 'double-drabble'. ::pouts::
> 
> Disclaimer (because I am old school that way): Tolkien is the consummate artist and Middle Earth is his chef d’oeuvre. I hold his work in highest regard and as such would not presume to unlawfully use his literary creations for profit. I am only borrowing from his imagination … for the pleasure of expounding on his already established genius.


End file.
